


Drunken Dragons

by Jverse



Category: No More Heroes (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Gore, Gen, Mentions of Prostitution, Swearing, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jverse/pseuds/Jverse
Summary: Jeane walks around Santa Destroy during another hunting night, where she tries to find easy targets to practice on her killing skills. Getting into a bloody incident, she comes to meet a weird drunkard that makes her think about some personal decisions.





	Drunken Dragons

From time to time, Santa Destroy looked like a completely isolated place, an urban dessert that only welcomed those poor souls that tried to find a way on putting their misery to a certain sharpening. It usually came through struggle, blood and death, sadly. Now, even with the cold breeze of a full moon night wheezing through the streets, the ambience still felt heavy, suffocating. Or perhaps that was only Jeane's perception; while feeling the amplitude of freedom, there was no way this city couldn't induce arches into her throat. Santa Destroy was her birthplace, somewhat of a micro universe where she found, by force, how life can work its gears in a gruesome way. Sometimes, she wondered why she didn't choose to leave this place back and find her luck in another state, or better, in another different country. But something disgusting and unforgettable was still taking roots in both this place and inside herself, and she felt like she couldn't move on without putting all of that story to an end.

And despite everything, she couldn't feel worse while wandering like a living dead through these empty streets, even if her face showed a permanent state of indifference.

She lurked through a near alleyway, getting into the shadows, her vibrant red eyes fixating around to see the weakly flashing neon lights of different locals around. The woman was really thirsty, but not for alcohol; alluding to a demonic presence, she wanted to drink blood tonight, through her knuckles. Getting stronger was the only thing flickering around her messed up head. It was her only option, to make the difference, to open an exit path inside that existential spiral of grief that was consuming her. A bunch of sounds kept her glued to reality. From a safe distance, she saw a bunch of losers laughing and bragging about trivialities. They were perfect for her warming up: cheap, blood-stained suits, not-so-hidden guns and knives around, and a total failure of an attempt to put a style that could make them to look menacing, including wearing sunglasses at moonlight and ridiculous, flashy hairstyles and meaningless tattoos. Low budget assassins and idiotic thugs. She could feel her fingers twitching, before clenching and turning into solid fists, making her to walk faster now, hungry. In silence, she looked at them entering into one certain local. _Plastic Model_. She didn't care about names and formalities, waiting just a few minutes before following them.

The place wasn't any big, and yet it was quite crowded. These preyed losers met with another batch of the same type and now they could be counted as a dozen, reuniting at a local's corner to brag loudly, order some cheap alcohol and disturb the other customers in general. It looked like a very familiar scenario in Santa Destroy's underground fun times, and the group, at her eyes, looked like a bunch of failed photocopies prepared to be thrown into a trash can. She would smirk if she could, but her face remained plastered in that neutral, almost tired expression, just looking at them while approaching slowly. The other customers, the barman... Nothing mattered for her. It was like the entire local became fogged by a dark cloud, and these scumbags were the only thing leaking into its shadowy peace.

"Hey, you..." her voice wasn't any loud, different than theirs. And even with it, she had enough presence to catch their attention. A moment of silence, and one of them smirked, steeping forward and eyeing her from head to toes, hungry of a different thing than what she was feeling.

"Holy shit... I never saw a blonde princess around this place before. Look at you. Nice clothes. Seems that you're seeking for something." He bragged, shaking the bottle of beer into his hand. He could almost lick his lips. "Do you want have some fun with us?"

"Depends on how much you're willing to pay. I don't think you have enough for me." She said, cold words over the heated up air, and causing many of them to just laugh and keep looking at her. Her eyes, still bored, could only return the looks like taking them as bloody lumps of meat. Too noisy. Generic.

"Oh hey! Wait! Pay attention to this slut! Do ya' think we don't have what we need to have? I'm tired of bitches comin' to our place, being all demanding and thinking on bein' superior." Two more steps. He was nearer, he was getting infuriated. She was calculating everything. "I don't know about your fees, bitch, but if ya' ask us for a job with that plastered face you're sportin' here, I'm expecting somethin' cheap. Show some enthusiasm. You could suck many cocks tonight. The more the merrier, right?"

More laughs, and she remained indifferent. If any, a small smile was starting to form around her expression. "It's not about quantity, as more about quality. Something that you clearly lack of. Your payment wouldn't be satisfying too, but I guess I must work with what I find, right?" She returned, with an even more ironic tone than the one he was using to make himself look superior.

That changed the general mood, laughs turning into silence, echoing grunts following. The main offended went one more step forward and pulled a revolver from his jacket's pocket. The cannon hit her temple, bringing a small sting of pain she was ready to take. It was so easy to call for their aggressiveness, and she was more than pleased by it. "You talkin' shit like that now? Okay, how about this deal? Ya' get on your knees and start working hard. If it's good enough I might shove some bucks into your filthy mouth, but if not... Bullets aren't that cheap these days, ya' know? I think one or two splattering your brains over the floor will be enough payment, slut!"

"That would be a great show, if you could even pull the trigger." She said, all defying, a grin coming from her almost timid smile. Being fast enough, it happened in a blink. An upper jab directed at his elbow, and the amputated arm fled away, blood starting to spray from the lump like a fountain. "F-Fuck?!" He couldn't even process the situation of an unknown woman being strong enough to tear apart his member, and the others looked impressed, horrified by how quick this happened. They could only bring out their weapons at the time she was sinking her right fist into his face, almost killing him instantly.

Next minutes would conform a bloody massacre. Jeane moved like a preying panther, jumping over each of these losers, breaking bones, ripping flesh and splattering blood and guts all around with her well-trained, almost feral techniques. The desperate gang tried shooting and cutting her, and indeed, some of those attacks got out blood from her system... but she always turned, a distorted expression looking at them, all ready; a blonde demoness with vivid, red eyes, telling without words that it was endgame for them, that they meant nothing even at a trashy place like Santa Destroy. That scum could be easily eviscerated, evaporated, almost. The same anger and contempt she was saving everyday for her father, now put to test, honing on cruelty and pain. The same exact feelings life decided that belonged to her when she became a victim of abuse, when she lost everything, when she was almost deprived of her humanity and identity. Like a star dying over the cosmos, exploding, bursting in flames and leaving a mark that one day would be forgotten by the infinity of the universe.

Now a dark star, turning into a black hole formed by trauma, absorbing them into death.

The place was reeking now of fresh blood, and only when she was finishing the last one, she noticed that most of the customers disappeared, probably not wanting to have anything to do with someone like her. She didn't care, now holding the last to be corpse and punching his face just one more time, feeling how her knuckles were kind of warm and numb now. Just with that hit, something fell off the jacket of that scum and rolled over the ground, stopping over one of the blood puddles. It was similar to a billiard ball, and she paid attention to it, leaving the corpse to rest heavily over the floor and going to grab it. While looking at the round object, she found a strange inner calm, a feeling she couldn't explain. It was like getting out of a rollercoaster, after having experienced the adrenaline pump, now the entire body palpitating and asking for rest. Looking at the ball, she found the unexpected feeling quite strange.

"That's... Mine, brat. _Hic!_ Come here and return it to me! You can take a shot..."

She turned, looking at the middle-aged russian guy who seemed wasted enough to lose all sense of danger, almost hugging an empty vodka bottle, and now turning from his stool to look with a bored expression at the demoness. She could tell that, in his eyes, she was just another normal person. Wasted, fuzzy eyes, seeing a distorted reality. And yet, there was something in his way of looking at her that seemed serious enough to, at least, take him into consideration. Especially when he was the only customer around this empty silence, product of a nonsensical violence. Holding the ball tightly into her left hand, she approached, taking a seat just next to him. She was all covered in blood, some wounds around her body, but they both acted like it didn't matter at all.

"This ball is yours. Okay, sucker... Why was it inside the pocket of that shithead? Also, I hope you're paying tonight. I don't have any money on me..." The woman said, playing with the ball over the counter, rolling it from hand to hand. Fixating, he was your usual local hobo, with a red tracksuit that looked like needing to get a serious laundry session and reeking of the same alcohol he was consuming without any restraints. They formed a peculiar duo now at the counter, and the bored man seemed to offer a faint smile.

"I lost it, along with some others, in the streets... It happens, often. 'bout paying... I think tonight's free, chump! Don't hold yourself." He answered, grabbing a full bottle just in front of the counter, and popping it open. Behind them was the barman, who was cleaning all the bloody mess that was at his local now, armed with a mop and a bucket. He didn't seem any fazed by the scene, probably used to the violence that was conquering Santa Destroy lately and, just as a possibility, because he detested that scum causing havoc most of the nights they decided to stick their noses at his local. It was as cruel and cold as her own way of acting, but in a city rooting in this type of violence, everybody wins in this situation: he finds some peace at his place, and she can take a couple shots to calm down the adrenaline rush. On what concerned the russian drunkard... He was just lucky on his acts, while having some idiotic guts, she thought. "Although ya' seem to be the type of bastard that can't keep it fine." He added, serving the two shots.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion. Recalling what happened... I'm sure you would be a bloody meat bag in my position. I would admit that you can still earn a place with them, if you're insistent enough. I'm thirsty." She added, taking her first shot in one solid gulp, the glass hitting the counter. The russian didn't seem any surprised, just keeping one eyebrow up, eyes on the liquid he liked that much. "Fuck, you're really a bastard. Calm down and enjoy your drink, do me that favor. You aren't bad with these punches, but you could do better. You don't rely on what you need to." Jeane turned to look at him, practically stealing the bottle from his lazy hands and serving herself another glass. "Don't tell me that you are an expert. The old russian legend that now buries his sad memories into tons of vodka and sassy lines. Wouldn't be a surprise. This city is getting a bunch of stereotypes lately." That said, a somewhat of a more sinister shade appeared over the hobo's expression, like if he got that line into personal boundaries.

"I have balls. My balls. That's enough power, and should be to you. You say some uninteresting bullshit, but you hit like the real deal..."

"What's so special about your balls? Surprise me." Her second shot went down her throat.

"Memories. True power comes with them."

"I'm not fond of a bunch of shattered pieces of shit."

"You think so. But there are strong, almost vivid memories saved in my balls. _Hic!_ They're powerful enough to save me in any situation in this shitload of a city. If you could find more of them, perhaps I could teach you something..."

Jeane took some seconds before filling her third glass, fingers tightening strong enough around the bottle that she could almost shatter it in a glimpse. But, like with her own memories, she decided to keep that back. She couldn't stand it. The guilt. Her once smiling mother turning into a thin corpse, degraded enough in all levels to choose to stop living. The four walls where she needed to wait for him and experience another torture, to feel an indescribable pain that would break her body and burn her soul. The day after day quieter, drowned cries for help that came with abuse. A cold chill creeping like a bunch of worms through her fingers and knuckles. The sensation of death over her skin, while being alive, and the necessity that came with that horrible experience. To make him pay, experience the same loss, at every level, that she suffered, just moments before returning his damned soul to the pits of hell. Memories. She couldn't get anything powerful from them, just a bunch of bloodlust that even killing the last one of these imbeciles wouldn't satisfy.

"I don't need to be taught on memories. Fuck your balls." The third round of liquid went down, eyes trembling slightly, hiding them while looking down. She wanted to puke so badly, but didn't want to appear as a weak being against what she thought to be a mere hobo.

"You could be one of them."

"... Of what?"

"One of my memories."

"Stop talking nonsense. You came here to drink, right? Then shut up and do it. You think you're doing me a favor, but I'm sparing you. Don't try your luck, you're drunk as hell..."

"As you are, chump." He mentioned, in a so calm tone that was really irritating.

Her trembling eyes would focus in a moment, that torrent of anger flying up through her body, up to her brain like a rocket. Her red eyes got deadly on sight, fists closing, facing the russian without any words. And even while posing menacing, Jeane felt something going wrong between them. Like two auras clashing, her violent behavior was struggling against a mysterious feeling. Something esoteric and danger-triggering coming from the man's presence. Like multiple presences shielding him. She gritted her teeth, tension rising, questioning internally why she just couldn't leap and kill him in a fleeting moment. It was like he knew something that she could barely grasp, and wanted to know about it.

"I'm drunk of alcohol, but you're drunk of blood. _Hic!_ Tell me, chump... Can you feel your knuckles anymore when you punch? Is there any intention? Do you get any satisfaction?"

She stopped, her expression softening, as these words sounded like compassionate ones, even while coming with a chaotic, doubting tone. Nobody cared for her satisfaction before, since all of this spiral of grief started, not counting what she did with her half-brother. Constructing a relationship that, on her part, couldn't be true, which forced his genuine feelings to be read as something miserable, fake. Constructed feelings that meant just making a simple move over the chess table while planning a bigger movement, on a different target. And she hated it, because she wished for her to feel them as genuinely as he felt. But no. There was no satisfaction, she couldn't even feel her heart pulsating through her knuckles, with every punch. She didn't feel anything while giving her body for training, for learning on arts that could be used to kill. She didn't feel anything on walking alone on the streets, finally free from her cage, the liberty tasting like nothing, when your soul can't feel the relief that comes with the night breeze.

"I figured it. You're a broken memory."

"... What can I do?" She asked, in a neutral tone, not wanting to admit these feelings to him. Even without any connotations, she could sound like a lost child asking for an adult's advice. In a real standpoint, she was a cold-blooded assassin, and he just a lazy, wasted hobo. And that hobo was the one taking a moment now, looking at the liquid one more time, like searching for something inside it.

"I had a dream a couple of nights before this. I wasted myself over a fuckin' cheap brand of whisky until the barman couldn't get any more bucks from my pockets. I remember him kicking me out, back the alleyway. It was morning already, and the sun hit so hard that I felt like my eyes were going to dissolve. Feelin' like burning, I found myself crying, running and seeking for a shadow until I blacked out. When I woke up, I was between two dumpsters, and I found some leftovers of a hamburger from that famous franchise..."

"Leave out the details. What was that dream about?" She sounded like seeking a desperate answer through his words.

"Calm down, fucker. These details are important. It's all about the details. Aren't you broken by the details? Aren't you killing by the details? _Hic!_ It's not about the general story, you can skip or fast-forward that. The details are what matters. You can't look back at the past because of the details!"

"But I want to take down the general story. The complete script, to point zero. Seeking for something across the long line. I could kill what's back and advance forward. The rest is running in circles."

"Think about it. I wasn't running in circles. It was a straight line, like the one you imagine. I wanted booze, I was denied of it. I wanted a shadowy, cool place. I found it between literal garbage. I was hungry, I advanced through some leftovers... It's an infinite straight line, until the end. But chump, I can't... _Hip!_ I can't grasp what's about the end."

"And could you find something related to it in your dream?"

"I saw a straight line, a vast yard that got lost in the sunset. You could only advance forward, or go back. It was an infinite line... But there were two persons that were going to fight. You're seeking for a fight, you fucking evidenced it with all those guts spilled around the floor, chump. In my dream, there was someone very similar to you. Ah, and a dragon."

"A real dragon...?"

"Yes, the dragon was like the line too, very long and thick. It could be infinite if someone wished to, I believe. But it wasn't, it stopped the infinity curse... While curling, forming a circle around the two who were going to fight. The dragon was forcing the struggle... Could you grasp what's representing?"

"The details. You can't escape from them."

"... Facing them... It's the only way to keep yourself away from the line."

The man said that in a very longing tone, sounding almost sober for just an instant. Jeane remained in silence, prepared to serve herself another glass, to burn more alcohol inside her rotten system. But she refrained, the bottle stomping boldly over the counter.

"If you ask me, you feel like that curling dragon. You look like doing nothing more than walk in circles, waiting for booze rather than seeking for it. Or perhaps, waiting for something deeper... Was it a metaphor about your destiny?" The assassin told him boldly, still resenting from agreeing about the details topic he brought out.

"I have many memories to take care of. I don't have a destiny. All I can do is keep being a side character in all of this, perhaps a laughable one? _Hic!_ I don't fucking care! Taking me as a wise figure would be a complete waste of time! But that was surely a metaphor... Do you believe in what some people say, that we hobos could be weird prophets? That we can predict the future! That's another fuckin' typical trope. And it's true that this city is full of them."

Jeane almost laughed, chuckling slightly for the first time in a while. Not that she was getting any more sympathetic with him, but in her personal misery, listening to his nonsensical ramblings was resulting amusing.

"Stop bitching around, man. Dreaming about dragons and infinite sunsets doesn't make you any sort of guru."

"No, that's obvious. But perhaps it means something. I saw your undirected punches. They don't have any meaning right now. You should obsess less about the line, and curl a bit. Like the dragon. Not forgettin' the details..."

Again, she thought about his words for a moment, looking at the man tapping his filled up glass with his lazy fingers, not looking at her directly. Curling would mean needing to not look to the direct horizon. In her case, stop looking away and knowing that, with only killing the perpetrator of her misery, nothing would flourish. Her life won't magically change, she wouldn't find happiness. She would be a shell, still, and she doubts there would remain anything that could fill her up again. Killing all that scum was supposed to act like a temporary placebo, but it was turning ineffective now. She could've turned into a dormant dragon that refuses to wake up. But, not forgetting about the past, making someone to remember what she lived through, to pass the burden into another person... That could make her feel different.

She thought about Travis. Feeling blind until now, she wasn't noticing that he was the most important detail in her convoluted plan. The physical definition of her past, and also a walking metaphor of the things that could've existed if trauma didn't happened. If her destiny wasn't broken. If she would have been given a choice, like he experienced, too.

Perhaps curling meant stopping punching and kicking anonymous meat like it could make her feel alive in a way, and to start planning on something more obscure. Centering about her past. Taking only one more step and prepare everything to make him remember, to make Travis, who had the right of choosing in his life, to feel like trapped in a similar line than the one she was walking on. To see, even if it meant that she could die by his hands one day by the same open wounds she was sporting all around, if he was able to flourish after trauma like she wished to. He could be on another existential spectrum, and be able to live through feeling death, to have a meaning for waking up alive one more day and see a new light on his path. A decision was quickly formed, making her to feel some forgotten chills for an instant.

She would make him to look at their dead bodies. She was going to cut their lives in front of him.

"Damn, you're fucking crazy. That malicious smirk... Don't make me feel bad about telling you that story! _Hic!_ It's not like I tried to give you any advice or anything... But you found something useful for yourself, right? And dark. _Hic!_ Quite dark. It smells more like death than like booze..."

Jeane returned to reality, shadows still over her face, her red eyes being like intense stars staring at the drunkard, with a newfound intent. "I'll give you a point, your so called memories might've given me some light... I don't care about the possibility of dying. If I'm killing my past, I'll be sure to leave an imprint... These bloodstains won't be able to be cleaned." She almost whispered, eyes averting and looking at the barman finishing his work, the bucket full of that crimson substance, floor all whipped.

"My memories don't work like that. But whatever, I'm glad they're useful. Even if someone dies in the way. Not that this place needs too many main characters."

"What this rotten city needs are more antagonists. Anyways, thanks for the drinks, ball man. You didn't even mention your name."

"Lovikov. But does it matter?"

"No, not at all. Only one name matters now." The assassin got up from her stool, grabbing the Lovikov ball and turning it around her hand, checking it for a while.

"Vodka tastes like shit tonight. I might... stay for longer while drinking it until it becomes decent."

Now that he mentioned it, she noticed that the man didn't take even one shot during their conversation. He looked so miserable, but  he felt like being more grounded than her at the same time. In a way that made her feel envious, wanting to indulge herself in trivial, mundane things like getting drunk and forgetting about everything. But even after many shots, she wasn't feeling any dizzy. When burning internally that much, constantly, you can't find any alcoholic leftovers. It's impossible to stay as grounded as him. She wouldn't find the horizon's end until she forced her way into it, or until she would become an ashtray after trying curling in the way.

And it would feel marvelous, she was sure of it.

"Your blabbers ended up being something to hear. Might come back and give you some of these balls, if I can find any of them." She sentenced, putting the ball over the counter and making it roll over the surface until it hit his right arm. Lovikov turned finally, looking directly at her frame for the first time, showing a sincere gaze she wouldn't be able to see, as she was almost walking out from the Plastic Model. His fingers were pretty tight around the glass, prepared to finally drink from it.

"I'll be around here, probably. Running in circles, ya' know. _Hic!_ You only need to bring me six more of them... And I'll tell you another story, chump."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to give a somewhat introspective look into Jeane's twisted feelings, while having some dynamics with a really minor character. It came unexpected and random, not sure about how to explain it but I found interesting to add Randall here and make them talk for a while after some bloody mess up.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the read! Please leave a comment if you wish!


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